


Kill Fried Chicken

by Malifique



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malifique/pseuds/Malifique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is forced to go undercover in a fast food restaurant. The team makes his life hell. Crack!fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill Fried Chicken

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a brilliant anon at inception_kink <3

"This has to be a joke," Arthur says dangerously.

"The fast food business is totally cut throat," Ariadne says, stifling a snort of laughter.

"Oh yes, it's a billion dollar industry." Yusuf's expression takes on a dreamy quality. "If only my products could achieve such viral popularity."

"You're the man for the job, Arthur," Eames adds, practically hopping with malicious glee. "Only you can do justice to that hideous, polyester-blend uniform."

It's true that, as the point man, it's Arthur's job to scope out the job. But _this_ \--! He turns to the only voice of reason in the room. "Cobb?" he says, and it's the closest he's ever come to begging.

Dom wrinkles his brow in thought. "James and Phillipa really like that stuff. I need you to find out about those eleven secret herbs and spices, Arthur. If not for the team, will you do it for my kids?"

"Ohh, check _mate_!" Eames crows. He and Ariadne high five each other while Yusuf nods sagely. Dom is still giving him that deep and soulful look.

Arthur is going to murder all of them in their sleep.

*

"Welcome to our wholesome family restaurant. May I take your order?"

Eames doesn't even bother to hide his smirk. "Hmm, I'm not feeling that Southern hospitality, chum."

"Yeah," Yusuf pipes up. "Aren't you supposed to smile?"

Arthur itches to strangle them both, almost as much as his hideous uniform itches against his flesh. Instead he cracks his lips to show a death grin.

"Chilling," Eames says.

Arthur has already fled to the bathroom three times to check his totem. This is not a nightmare. This is so much worse.

"What can I get you…gentlemen," he grits out.

"Ahem," Ariadne coughs pointedly, squeezing between the two men at the counter. "I'll take a malt shake please. Super thick." She gestures at his head. "Nice hairnet."

"I'll take ten pieces of the spicy and hot chicken," says Yusuf.

"Onion rings for me, darling," Eames drawls.

If Arthur grits his teeth any harder he might snap a crown. "We don't sell onion rings. Sir. Please order from the menu."

"Hmm. All right, I'll take one of those wicked meal deals." Eames licks his lips. "I do hope it comes with a toy."

"Actually, cancel the thickshake," says Ariadne. "I'll have a crispyloin burger. Looking at all these pictures of Chunky McChicken is making me hungry."

"And I'd like a family sized coleslaw to go with my chicken, two potato and gravy things, and a litre of Pepsi. The diet kind, please. I'm watching my figure," Yusuf adds helpfully.

Arthur can feel a twitch starting in his eye. He prays for an aneurysm, or an AK-47. "Anything else?"

"Yes." Eames leans across the counter, his flirt dial turned all the way up to 'stun'. "What time does your shift finish, darling? I'd like to find out if you really are finger lickin' good."

*

It takes three fire trucks to put out the blaze started by Arthur throwing a chair into the deep fryer. Dom chews him out for costing them the job. Ariadne starts putting fire extinguishers into every level of their dreams. Yusuf retires to his lab with a piece of chicken rescued from the inferno to try and extract a sample. Eames sits with a cold pack against his black eye and hums the jingle, over and over again.

Arthur shreds the hairnet, uses his uniform for target practice, and tosses his die, praying for anything but a six.

It always lands on cold, harsh reality.


End file.
